


Cause and Effect

by samidare



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Has Issues, Loki also has magic, M/M, My First Fanfic, Psychological Trauma, Sorry Not Sorry, Torture, and he uses it freely, bad things happening to good people, this could turn into an adventure of sorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 16:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidare/pseuds/samidare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>There is a wheezing sound, a faint crack, and another, scarlet liquid and rain pooling around the body.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tony Stark is standing motionlessly in the rain, staring at half-lidded dull green eyes.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Decisions, actions and consequences. That is how the world works.<br/>So he makes a decision. Consequences - time will tell of those.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome, dear Reader, to my first fanfic.  
> I had an idea rumbling around in my head for a while now and finally decided to try my hand at writing.  
> Please note that I am not a native English speaker and that this work is unbeta-ed. I apologize for any weird wording, spelling mistakes or messed up use of tenses.  
> Nevertheless, please enjoy.

* * *

 

There is a tingling sound, a faint crack, and another, amber liquid and ice cubes swirling in their confines.

He straightens, turning away from the bar to walk towards the glass front of his balcony and looks outside. New York lies beneath him, the streets bustling, pedestrians hurrying to get out of the oncoming rainstorm. Normal, peaceful. The way it should be, without crazy lunatics trying to take over the world.

Large drops start splatting against the glass and he realizes he's been staring, staring at the glass panel he had been flung through, supposed to meet his end in an embrace of gravity and concrete. Mere hours after this uncalled for experience of free fall he flew a nuke through wormhole to another goddamn _galaxy_ , destroying a _frikkin space ship_ full of _aliens_ and _again_ , falling, to what he thought at that moment, would be his certain death.

Tony Stark does not believe in a God.

What had saved him that day was not some higher entity, Fate or whatever. It was his tech, an invention of his genius brain and the decision of a friend.

Tony Stark believes in causes and consequences. Action A leading to Result B.  
A (mostly) straight line to follow logically, solvable equations, reasonably calculable results, no need to include higher powers.

And then along came gods and aliens and space ships and magic. Suddenly some Science Fiction and Fantasy novels didn't seem so ridiculous anymore. And while the scientist in him wanted to start prodding at things, take them apart, see how all these shiny new toys worked...  
Well, the Iron Man had dealt with the threat that day. The human inside the metal had been terrified.  
In a way, he still was. He now knew what could be out there, making it's way to Earth.

Tony sips at his scotch.

He has nightmares. He doesn't talk about it. Helping to compile an incident report the size of an encyclopedia, he debriefed SHIELD and the other Avengers about what he had seen, what had loomed before those _alien_ (ha) star constellations. Nobody could make him talk about this a second time, not even Pepper had succeeded. He refused all notions to see a therapist, no shrink would jumble his melon, thank you very much.

Pepper had at least been able to calm him down, reach him during the panic attacks that had followed in the weeks after, but in the end even she, sweet, amazing Pepper, couldn't keep up with his new frantic side, crazed nights tinkering away in his workshops with a never before seen insistence, and left him. She was still there, running the company, coming when he called her, but she wasn't _there_ anymore, at night, when he was shaking in the tangled sheet of his bed, panting, and just wishing for a warm body to curl up against and seek comfort in. He doesn't pick up girls anymore. His paranoia won't let him. Hence the nights left him alone, afraid of unknown stars and flashes of blue-green eyes, glinting with madness.

So he drinks to forget.

Tony downs the whole tumbler.

He sometimes tries to think about what could have happened if that infernal scepter had worked on him. If that would-be conqueror had decided to touch that wicked tip just a couple of inches in either direction, if he hadn't hit the metal of the reactor, but the flesh of the human around it, would he have turned into a puppet, just like the archer had? Would he have been forced to help a _lunatic god_ in his endeavor to subjugate the city, this planet? Would he have helped him rule? His obedient mouth telling him everything noteworthy, the secrets of the planet, even devising a plan for an easy domination of humankind? Blue eyes, tinged with insanity and green. He doesn't know, doesn't want to _want_ to know.

He is still gazing, unseeing, at that one special window panel and the new glass fencing of the balcony that had been repaired when the rain starts to let up and slows to a drizzle. He had instructed the workers to leave the protective layers of foil on the glass surrounding the balcony, the silvery coating serving as a reminder, for a little while at least. If he were to ask the others, they would not be able to tell which pane had been broken by Tony's back. They knew it had happened but... nothing in his penthouse indicated any incident anymore, the floor also re-tiled. _His_ floor, in which a _god_ had been _beaten into_.  
Eleven weeks, barely 3 _months_ , and the world was starting to forget about New York again.

He can't. Bright eyes, fingers around his throat, the feeling of effortlessly being lifted from his feet, then there's wind rushing by and the street surging closer with dizzying speed. A spaceship, in _another fucking galaxy_ , which he destroyed.

Tony snaps himself out of the rising panic, he can feel it crawling up his insides, by lifting the glass. He's not drunk enough yet. Raising it to his lips he notices that the glass is already empty, and grimaces. He returns to the bar, where the half-empty bottle of scotch is still waiting. Tony refills the glass, sets the bottle back on the counter and grips its marble edge the moment his gaze falls back to the glass front.

There is a small flicker of light on one of the foils on the balcony fencing. It could have been the reflection of a thunderbolt but Tony swears he saw something green. He squints, expecting another flash of lightning or the rumble of thunder, but nothing comes.

 _Huh_ , he thinks, _maybe I am drunk enough_.

 But then there it is again, a faint glimmer of color on the silvery surface. He holds his breath and then Jarvis informs him " _Sir, I detect some form of energy fluctuation on the balcony_."

"No kidding, I can see that."

He stares at the tendril of green, slowly flicking on the glass, before a wash of blue joins it. They seem to coil about lazily for some seconds, then start blooming into a swirl of ocean hued light. Strands of green and blue twining into another, weaving a radiant net across the surface underneath.

"Jarvis, analysis."

" _I am already comparing and verifying data, sir. It certainly is some form of magic_."

Within another few seconds the churning mass of color grows to the size of a door, extending up from the glass fencing. It's as if someone had magically cut out a piece of the sun-lit sea and propped it up on his balcony for his viewing pleasure.  
It would be a quite impressive sight if he weren't so afraid of what it might entail.

" _Sir, I suggest informing the Avengers or SHIELD. Shall I make the call?_ "

Tony wants to open his mouth, wants to yell _YES, fuckdamnittohell_ , but he is stunned into silence. The swirling green let's him think of long fingers on his neck. Suddenly it's hard to draw a breath.

There is a coil of black emerging from the middle now, twisting, growing, splitting into more, until it fills the whole center of his personal light show. With a start Tony realizes, there is a _portal_ on his balcony, a black gaping doorway to where- _fucking_ -ever, framed by a ring of brilliant luminescence. Tony also realizes that anyone, or actually, make that any _thing_ , could come strolling through there from Alienville, not-USA. And he is standing maybe 30 feet away from it, in a soft flannel shirt and worn denim.

He feels, basically, naked.

Before he can even start to unclench his fingers from the marble counter top, the need to dash for the suits bracelets already a high-pitched wail in his mind, Tony can see movement in the darkness of the portal. There is a sharp flash of color and then something sprouts out of the blackness.

A chitauri.

Tony remembers the tall, gray-skinned aliens as if he had seen the last one yesterday. It has almost completely risen from the dark surface when Tony's hands finally scramble for the bracelets to his right. The moment he snaps them on he can see the chitauri slowly listing backwards, falling into an unmoving heap. It's bloody, Tony sees then, it's entire front ripped open like its skin and flesh itself had exploded away from the bones. It's dead.

He activates the suit and while the pieces start connecting with each other to envelop his body, three tangled forms tumble through the portal. There are two more chitauri, Tony recognizes at a glance, but the third one is smaller, clad in black, inky hair sticking up furiously. It's _Loki_. Green, black, gold-horned God-of-Mischief-slash-failed-conqueror-of-the-world-Loki.

Well, figures. Who else, with that company.

They untangle, scurrying apart before closing in on each other again, and Tony is about to move forward to fight when he is able to discern that those three are actually already fighting _each other_ , which makes no sense at all. Because, Lost-his-marbles-Bambi is their commander, right? Surely they've come for a second try at world domination?

Loki's bloodied face is twisted into something ugly, he his flicking his right hand at the alien in front of him, somehow causing it to stagger backwards. The second chitauri had moved behind him, succeeding in grasping both his arms, holding them fast. The first rights himself and comes forwards, a short wicked spear-like thing in his hands. It tries to impale the Trickster, but the lean frame twists and suddenly there are boots on the chitauri's chest, the spear kicked aside, and with a repeated twist of his body Loki rests one foot at the chitauri's neck, the other impacting with its skull with so much force that Tony can hear the bones crushing, _even through the window_. The thing drops dead immediately.

Tony remembers a flash of green, resigned eyes taking in the circle of his victorious captors. Fancy manacles binding hands otherwise capable of working magic. A fancy muzzle taming the sharp tongue. A flash of blue, and the two gods are gone.

Something was very _wrong_ with the picture in front of Tony, without regard to the aliens on Earth. Loki was supposed to be securely tucked away in a cell in Asgard. Loki was supposed to be punished and paying for his crimes against humanity. Loki was _not_ supposed to be battling his underlings on Tony's balcony.  
Which, again, just did not to make any sense. So Tony just watches.

Loki's feet touch the ground, he uses the momentum to catapult his legs back up and in an inhumanly fluid motion curls up and rams his knee against the chitauri's head above him. It grunts loudly, lets him go, grips at its face. Loki lands snarling with an audible _thud_ on his back, gyrates towards the alien, who tries using the opportunity of a downed opponent to its advantage. The chitauri, now holding a second of the curved spears, leans back over the god to tear at him with the blade, but the Trickster propels his body out of harm's way at the last second, a wickedly sharp looking dagger appearing in his upturned right hand, on which the chitauri essentially impales itself. Loki thrusts is arm up and Tony can see a wave of green rippling from his hand into the midriff of the alien, its pained face growing slack and the whole body collapsing lifelessly to the side.

Then Loki flops back, just lying there, panting, and by the looks of it, bleeding. His lips move and Tony can see the god's hands move in a complicated looking gesture. A moment later the black of the portal bleeds back into the oceanic hue, before the whole magical structure of light folds into a small flicker of color and then sparkles away into _nothing_.

A minute passes, and still Loki just lies there, eyes closed, doing nothing, but breathe. Tony decides it's high time for his entrance.

He opens the balcony door and steps through. It doesn't even feel like a split second, and Loki has his head lifted up, eyes snapping to focus on him. When he sees the red-gold metal suit, however, he starts panting heavier again, as if he until just now had not realized his whereabouts. He looks like an actual deer caught in the headlights. Tony doesn't take notice and steps forward, waving a hand in the god's general direction.

"Hello there, Reindeer Games, didn't expect you back so soon." he says nonchalantly. Loki makes no move to stand up or attack, just visibly tenses under what Tony can now see are, in substance, blood-crusted _rags_.

_What the hell?_

"Well, firstly, thanks for closing the magic rabbit hole behind you..." Tony trails off, because at some point, Loki must have decided he was getting too close and starts scooting away backwards, which Tony just compels to take a few more steps into the others direction. It serves no purpose other than giving Loki's movements a frantic edge, he's scrambling backwards as fast as he can now, leaving a smeared trail of blood across the balcony.

Tony holds up his hands, in that universal human I-am-not-gonna-hurt-you-gesture, but Loki seems to misunderstand, staring at the propulsion ports in the suits gauntlets like he is almost waiting to get shot any moment. He makes a little noise, a few jumbled words leave his mouth in a rush, his right hand swishing in a circular motion. Then there is green around Loki, shimmering slightly, and Tony is sure he is about to get zapped with magic, but the god's body is gleaming softly in a golden light for a moment, flickering to translucence, just short of vanishing into thin air. But next there is a pained scream that tears itself from the pale throat. The green-gold scintillates, and starts dimming. The dissipating magic leaves behind a convulsing body that has become solid again, and Tony gapes, not knowing how to react.

Loki soundlessly curls in on himself, arms covering his head, goes still, deathly still, and it seems that he doesn't even breathe anymore.

So Tony walks forward, slowly, watching for any kind of movement, because for all he knows, this could be a trick. He had heard enough about the Trickster's schemes from Thor to not believe this openly projected vulnerability. That just had to be a trick. He reaches the still form, prods it with a metal-clad foot. When there is no reaction, he carefully flips the body onto its back. There are slight cracking sounds to which he pays no mind. The limbs loll with the movement, but the left leg catches Tony's attention. It's suddenly bent at impossible angles, looking like it had been broken at least _twice_. Tony is sure that seconds ago those bones had been fine. Tony does notice the small series of splintering sounds this time and watches in plain, explosive horror as the left side of Loki's ribcage starts _caving in_. As if _all_ the bones in there are _mangled_. His shallow breaths are beginning to sound wet, and blood trickles steadily from his mouth. What looked like small cuts under the torn cloth are now gaping gashes, bleeding profusely. And still he can hear, what Tony is sure now, the god's bones _breaking by themselves_. Tony Stark is standing motionlessly in the rain, staring at half-lidded dull green eyes.

There is a wheezing sound, a faint crack, and another, scarlet liquid and rain pooling around the body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Please feel free to leave comments, I encourage you to criticize, as long as it's constructive :)  
> I honestly do not know how often I will be able to update but I promise you this will not be abandoned, however long it will take. I have the story planned out already, just need time to type it all out in a satisfying manner.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments on the first chapter - even if I don't respond to each, please know that every single one is highly appreciated.

* * *

 

The rain picks up again, and some part of Tony is immensely grateful for it, the rushing downpour drowning out the sounds of snapping bones from Loki's body, the wetly rasping noises of his breathing.

Tony doesn't know what to do. He flips up the suit's faceplate, and for a few seconds he simply watches how the rain mingles the blue-grayish alien blood with the deep-red of the god, he doesn't even need to pretend that it looks human, and how it all washes down over the tiling of the balcony to disappear from sight, flowing into the water drainage holes at the ledge.

It somehow looks wrong.

He turns back to the unconscious form lying before him, splayed out like a broken bird that has plummeted out of the sky. Loki's half-open, unblinking eyes are unnerving, the bright glinting green that Tony remembers, _fingers gripping his throat_ , dulled to a deep emerald color.

"Jarvis," he finally says, "I want this as secret as possible. I hope you haven't contacted anyone yet."

" _No, sir. The threat seemed to be confined to the balcony, and as you have never specified any orders or protocol to how to react to hostile parties on the premises attacking each other and not you I have not taken any actions."_ comes a somewhat cheeky response.

"Save all sensor data and video material to my private server. Delete all traces of information that SHIELD could get their grabby hands on."

" _Very well, sir_."

Tony starts weighing his options. The one thing he definitely can't do, he muses, his ignore the mess on his balcony and just walk back inside. If SHIELD is still spying on him, which, considering his person and occupation and general crazyness recently, they most likely are, he should at least do _something_ to hide the alien mass of limbs lying about. Otherwise, his penthouse might be smothered with black-clad agents brandishing weapons at everything and the helicarrier floating above his tower faster than he would like. Not to mention Fury creeping around in his living room, asking uncomfortable questions.

Which would ruin his by now perfectly ruined Saturday afternoon even more.

Tony can already see the guy metaphorically rubbing his hands with glee at the magnificent catch, the prone god handled like a child's early christmas present - ripped open, played with for a while, and then left broken somewhere forgotten.

He walks to the chitauri's corpses, grabbing ankles and wrists and the suit's hydraulic systems let Tony effortlessly flip the bodies on top of each other, rearranging them into a pile. One of them still has Loki's dagger embedded in its chest and Tony pulls it out, setting it aside. He snags a couple of wrinkled tarpaulins from beside the balcony door, suddenly appreciative of his recent strange need to not have his living quarters spotless and untelling of what had transpired there.

Prior to the alien invasion he would have had the penthouse polished up to pristine condition as fast as possible after any kind of architectural mishap, be it an attack on the tower or just Dummy messing up. But the experiences, the memories gained on that particular day just would not let him. In contrast, the City of New York has almost completely recovered, damaged buildings being restored, and ordinary life had picked up not even a week after the _incident_ , as the government called it.

 _Right_.

But _no_ , Tony had needed the visual reminder, had needed to be able to see the vestiges of the things that happened here, had needed to know that it was not just some drunken haze induced fantastical nightmare. If not, he was sure, the plain knowledge would have driven him insane.

So he had left the man-shaped hole in the living room floor untouched for ten weeks, falling into a routine of staring at it first thing in the morning or whenever he finally crawled out of bed. Staring at it while he drank that day's, or more likely that waking cycle's, first cup of coffee. He would consume several tumblers of strong alcohol, while staring at it, before proceeding to collapse into bed.

The first week, Pepper had been more than understanding of this behavior, but then she started insisting on a clean up. For Tony it had seemed like a strange sort of memory wipe. _Clean up_. Like _Let's delete any traces of that weird thing that once happened in my goddamn living room_. He refused. They argued. In the end he ordered new tiles, their seam-less existence appeasing every visitor he has had this last week. The tile's design is exactly the same, they had been manufactured by the same small family owned business somewhere in Italy, which he had called secretly when Pepper had left after placing the order, to ask whether they could deliver them in a slightly darker tinted hue. Nobody notices. For Tony, those tiles stand out like garish neon signs.

Satisfied with his handiwork, the alien corpses bundled up to look like some more leftover tiling materials, Tony moves to crouch at Loki's side. There is no change, the rain steadily washing him of his blood.

Tony wouldn't mind some SHIELD agents to take care of the three dead chitauri, to vanish them away to their secret labs to do _who knows what_ to the cadavers. Calling this in and handing the corpses over would be one thing, but it would mean that he would have to explain this situation, which he definitely couldn't since he doesn't understand it _one bit_ , and also turn in the helpless form of the Trickster currently lying two feet away from him. Something inside him balks at the thought.

Usually his gut instincts are right, and right now they are telling him to not rush to the obvious solution of handing the god over to SHIELD and have _this problem_ out of his hands. Tony has had enough time to sneak around in their database to find out what that organization is considering proper treatment for prisoners, especially those of the super-powered criminal variety.

Tony had also found Loki's file, and there had been a hidden, encrypted attachment, which for one had provided him with a few more little interesting pieces of information about the Aesir, who, according to a note, sourced with Thor's name, didn't actually seem to be that much of an Aesir. But the part of the file that really caught Tony's attention was a kind of to-do-list in case SHIELD would ever get their hands on the Trickster again. A catalog of tests, spanning several pages, and at least half of those had to constitute as overt torture by human law.

While Tony is squatting there, turning options over in his mind, the rain lets up.

He makes a decision.

Whether it would come back to bite him in the ass, well, only time would tell.

Tony returns inside, activating the small control button in the gauntlets that will disengage the suit. He leaves the empty metal shell standing next to the bar, picks up the scotch-filled tumbler and gulps it down, the ice cubes having melted already. He expels an airy huff of determination, then walks back out onto the balcony.

He crouches next to the god again, slowly reaching out a hand to tap a shoulder. There is still no reaction, so Tony slowly, gingerly, slides his arms under Loki's knees and armpits, and carefully straightens up. He is startled at the light weight in his arms, he certainly expected that tall gangly-limb-ed body to weigh more. A moment later Tony is dismayed by the way the broken limbs move, dangling like those of a rag doll. His stomach gives a sickening lurch. The feeling of the spine in his arms bending, unnaturally, does not help at all.

He carefully shifts the dead weight in his arms, so that Loki's head tucks against his shoulder and doesn't loll backwards. The coppery stench of blood settles around him.

He moves to the elevator, thinking.

"Jarvis, set friend-foe-classification for the tower's security-systems for Loki Laufeyson to neutral, for now. Don't let it show on the outer layers of your programming, in case SHIELD tries to snoop around again."  
  
The elevator door opens as soon as he reaches it. He steps inside, saying "Medical Floor." Tony can feel that the front of his shirt is soaked through by now, he doesn't know if it's more rain water or blood. Either way, it's somewhat cold, like the frail form in his arms is.

Once he reaches the medical bay he puts down Loki's legs on one of the examination tables, holding him upright with one arm around the shoulders and reaches for a pair of scissors in the table-built-in-cabinet's drawers. Tony can feel the god's soft, fluttering pulse under his fingers, and for a moment he feels immeasurably powerful, having a _god's_ life literally in his hands. A vengeful voice in his head starts whispering, _only a slight press of a hand around that throat, just fit your fingers onto the-_ . Tony stifles it.

He starts cutting away the strips of cloth from the god's torso, feeling how grimy and mucky they are, crusted with dried blood, clinging to the stained skin. The tattered things really deserve no other label than _rags_. The silence is filled with wheezing intakes of air, shallow, irregular puffs of breath.

Tony lays aside the scissors and lowers Loki to the surface, one hand between the shoulder blades, the other gently guiding down the head. He sets to work on the pants afterward, cutting open the top and then sliding it out underneath the hips, while he holds them up.

He has no qualms about the naked body, no, not him, not Playboy Tony Stark, and besides, he has found Bruce's nude form after transforming back from his mean and green counterpart enough times by now.

What makes him feel uneasy is the condition in which the body is, and a sad state it is. In addition to the splintered bones and the _still concave part of his ribcage_ there are deep gashes all over the body and a myriad of cuts and scratches is marring the pale frame. He looks way too thin, even malnourished, and there is heavy bruising blooming on the dirt-streaked skin.

Okay, so he doesn't feel uneasy, he feels nauseous enough to throw up.

As Tony sets to straightening the limbs he tells Jarvis to make a full-body scan. When he knows how bad the damage is, maybe there's something he can help with. When he grasps the right hand to lay it flat, it feels like a boneless mass, fractures shifting under the skin, and he drops it with a wince.

Cursing, he just has to step away for a moment, and breathe. Close his eyes, and take _in_ a breath, and _out_ it goes. In, and out.

When Jarvis is done with the scan and starts listing the injuries, Tony's eyes snap open and he turns back to the table. According to his AI, more than half of the bones in that body are broken, several of them multiple times. There are massive internal injuries, and the left lung is compressed and pierced by the surrounding mangled skeletal structure.

How that creature on the table is living is unexplainable, but that it is even still breathing on its own accord is a complete mystery to Tony.

He is aware that he can't take Loki to a hospital for obvious reasons, so either that maniac pulls through with the little help that Tony can provide or... He doesn't think about it. He retrieves clean strips of cloth, towels and a bottle of iodine solution. He puts those on the table, next to Loki's head, before he fetches a clean bucket to fill it with lukewarm water, and wound-dressing materials, surgical needle and thread included. Those he places on a pushcart to pull close to the table.

Almost tenderly he begins to wipe the god clean, and several times he as to change the water and towels. There is so much blood and dirt.

The figure looks much paler without the grime covering him, ashen-skinned and gray-lipped. The delicate frame looks so fragile.

"How is he holding up, Jarv?"

" _Vital signs are weak, but stable._ "

After setting up an IV with saline solution and sponging torn skin with iodine, Tony commences to sew the gashes shut. It feels not that different from what he does down in the workshop, his fingers nimbly fixing the broken skin. The steady in and out of the needle, pulling taut the tread, lets him drift into a sort of meditative state. He is almost done when a faint _squelch_ and _snap_ makes him jump. Loki is lying still, but then after a few moments something in his contorted chest moves, bulging out with more sickening sounds, and Tony realizes, after one frightening moment of remembering a certain space monster movie, that the god's bones are moving again, but this time, they seem to be setting themselves correctly. It takes at least a quarter of an hour, and all the while a stunned Tony watches with macabre fascination as the insides of the ribcage stir and it takes on a normal form again, the bones shifting visibly under the skin and reattaching to each other.

Then there is an airy sound, like wind forcing its way around small openings, and suddenly the body coughs, expelling blood and fluid from a lung that Tony is strangely sure is now in working order again. So Loki's body seems to be able to heal itself. That at least was good.

Shaking himself, Tony finishes with the suture, cleans up the new blood, and starts applying the bandages to Loki. He doesn't bother thinking about splints anymore, just wraps everything firmly, especially the right hand.

When he is finally, _finally_ , done, he carefully gathers up the god in his arms again and moves him over to a bed, sets up a new IV, and drapes a soft blanket over him up to his abdomen. Tony neatens the table, puts the bucket and iodine away and throws all towels and rags into the trash can with an order to Jarvis to burn it all. No need to raise any suspicions, and besides, that filthy stuff just needs to cease existing.

He watches the still form on the bed for a few more minutes, then makes his way back up to the penthouse, telling Jarvis to closely monitor Loki and inform him of any changes. He takes a quick shower and puts on new clothes, and en route to the elevator Tony grabs the tablet lying on the coffee table. With a start he realizes that it's already getting dark outside, and he walks to the balcony to close the door and check on the inconspicuousness of the bundle outside. That's when he remembers the dagger. He lifts the bloody thing from the floor, gratefully noticing that the rain had pretty much washed away all the blood from the balcony tiling. He closes the door on the way inside and minding the time goes to grab a packed sandwich and two bottled waters from the fridge. Furthermore, Tony takes a dishcloth to sheathe the dagger in an improvisatory manner.

He also grabs the bottle of Scotch to take a big gulp directly from it, because honestly, what the _hell_ is going on. There are three dead chitauri on his balcony and the God of Mischief lies in one of his beds, looking like he had been through a meat grinder.

When he returns to the medical floor he sets everything he brought on the bed beside Loki's, drags over a chair from the sitting area and flops down. He eats the sandwich and drinks half of one of the waters, then starts tapping away on the StarkPad to open a new, private file on Loki. He keeps sipping at the water while he tries to accumulate all information he deems relevant, annotating ideas and thoughts, observations he's made about the magic, the hand-flicking. He sits in complete silence, only once in a while the quiet noise of something righting itself coming from the body next to him, and every time he looks up, expecting Loki to wake. The god is still unconscious however, and Tony takes the opportunity to take a closer look at him, and not just the rushed flitting-over-with-your-eyes one does when fighting. Lying there with his eyes closed and face slack Loki looks at the same time much older and so much younger. It does not seem like the face of a lunatic hell-bent on conquering worlds with some fancy glowing stick.

Tony is thinking about everything he knows that Thor told them about Asgard, about Loki, about his little brother falling into the nothingness of space. He thinks about the crazed creature that had turned up to try and rule this planet and raze everyone that dared defy him into the ground. Which clearly had failed at some point. And the longer Tony thinks about it the more some things just don't add up. He's always liked solving puzzles, and this incomplete one is starting to give him a headache. Still he tries to figure out what happened.

Because, well, certainly _something_ had.

His other train of thought leads him to the immediate future. What will happen when the Trickster regains consciousness? Will he kill Tony? Will he try and go make people kneel again? Will he simply run away, as soon as his body allows him to? He has no idea. And then there's the next question. What will Tony do? There isn't much that he could, that is for sure. With his suit he could maybe subdue the injured god for a while, but what would that lead to? Besides, as soon as Loki is back to full strength even the Iron Man couldn't stand against him on hi own. And without the suit... what, talk to him? Offer him tea and biscuits? He has no idea on that one, either.

Between all the speculating he grabs the silvery dagger and examines it. It has a nice, solid weight to it and the hilt lies comfortably in Tony's palm. Scrubbing the last bit of moisture and gray blood from it, he inspects it a bit closer. The hilt is actually made up by two coiling snakes, their necks and heads extending outwards to form a small guard. On the lower end of the blade, which looks sharp enough to cut effortlessly through rubber, are little twining engravings, they seem to be runes. It might be a deadly weapon, but it sure is a pretty thing. Tony sets it aside to resume typing on the tablet.

It's 3-something-am when he contemplates going to bed, his back protesting the posture the chair had been forcing him to sit in for hours, and he makes a mental note to get some other seats moved in here as well.

The next time he looks up though, his throat constricts. There is a pair of dark green orbs staring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I know that Loki is supposed to have super dense tissue like the Aesir, making him really heavy, but in my story that wouldn't fit. So, my story, my Loki ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks for the comments. Love to you all.  
> This whole piece will most likely never deviate from Tony's POV; I think it better to have Loki be mysterious and him and his motives not easily figured out even by the reader. That also means that Tony has no idea about magic unless Loki sees it fit to explain stuff. Well, we'll see how it goes.  
> ~O~ will mark temporal jumps or the change of location.

* * *

 

Someone might as well have a choke hold on his throat and his brain.

Everything is tinged with green and there's the feeling of wind rushing by.

Tony wants to yell at Jarvis to call in the Avengers. He wants his AI to tell SHIELD to prepare a cell for an early Christmas present, all ready to be shipped and bundled up in white wrapping. He wants the Tower's consciousness to send one of his suits down to him to the Medical Floor, weapons a blazing.

He wants to hurl that sharp blade resting behind him at its owner and use the distraction to run away.

Tony simply wants to _run_.

His muscles and joints seem to have locked, though, and so he stares at Loki, and Loki stares back, and for handful of agonizing minutes neither of them moves. Tony is sure as hell that every moment now Loki will flick one of his wrists, causing the painful staccato beat in his chest to artlessly _cease_ or he will jump up from the bed with his inhuman strength to just strangle him to death.

This was a bad idea, this was a _fucking_ bad idea, how could he ever think that stuffing the injured God of Mischief and Failed World Conquering into a bed in his Tower would be a _good_ idea?

Tony's defensive instincts tell him to run, and he wants to, he really _really_ wants to be anywhere else than near that god with the deep forest green eyes, but his traitorous body doesn't move.

Loki too seems frozen, and his face would be a perfect blank mask if it weren't for the way his whole body must be in agony and his eyebrows are drawn in pain, oh so subtly, but obvious, he can see it, he has the time to look.

Until Tony hears himself say "Hey." without any consent from his brain whatsoever. "I, uhh, kinda gave you shelter from the rain and patched you up as much as I could, so how about, uhm, you don't kill me." Very eloquent, well done, Tony Stark. Loki does not respond, only confusion is creeping slowly into his features. He does not look as if he's about to wreak any havoc, and for that reason Tony's mouth decides it has been given the permission to run loose.

"Well, about the patching up, you should know that my last first aid course was way too long ago to be legally acceptable or of that much help and there's only so much you can pick up from all the crazy medical TV-dramas, because there's, like the name implies, just so much drama and so little doctor-stuff those things really should be called something else like 'cheesy dramas set in hospitals' or something and so I basically just tried to remember what my buddy Bruce did when I cut open my left wrist on a sheet of metal a while ago, sliced open quite a bit of my arm while I was at it and the Doc just sat me down and calmly stitched the cleaned and disinfected wound together and educated me some about first aid and how to treat stuff that can happen when you work in a workshop like I do, doing all that amazing science stuff with freakishly sharp metal edges and soldering irons and stuff and you threw me out of a window so I'm just half sorry if you feel like I did a bad job since considering it's the first time I did this I think it turned out pretty much on the Not That Bad side of things and you know you should've popped a visitor's notice to my secretary if you were going to drop by, you know. Maybe could've helped you with those friends of yours."

There's a moment where Tony feels strangely detached from himself and just listens to his own ranting, and if he always sounds like that when he tries to play smoothly over his nervousness then he should be embarrassed, like, a _lot_. Except not now, because _now_ he is still _fucking terrified_.

Because suddenly his brain seems to finally have completely picked up on who his lying there in the bed, now _conscious_. The God of Mischief, the Trickster and Lie-smith, the one who attacked Earth mere _weeks_ ago, murdering, lunatic, Bambi-

Loki's lips move, he appears to want to speak, but only a small and hoarse sound passes them. His brows draw further together, in discomfort, and he swallows several times. When Loki lifts his left hand, faint green tendrils of magic wrapping around it, Tony jerks, almost scrambling out of his seat before he sees that Loki is touching his throat with the bandaged appendage.

Not shooting him with a death ray or something first thing after he's woken up, well, that's a good start at least.

The pale throat glows a light honey-golden color under the wound dressings, there's also the tiniest sparkle of bright green in his irises, until after a few seconds the shine flickers out. Then Loki moves the hand back to lay beside him and focuses on Tony again, taking a few labored, deliberate breaths. This time when he tries to speak the words leave him, still hoarse and barely audible, and Tony scoots closer because he isn't sure he heard that correctly.

"Why have you not killed me yet?"

Tony stares. _What the hell?_

He must have misheard that one. There's no way Loki would be asking something like that. Or was that a trick question? And depending on the answer Loki would later consider an either merciful or slow method of death appropriate for him ?

But there is no subtle tone of arrogance, of challenge or superiority, or at least Tony can't hear it, only something that sounds strangely _defeated_. The god's voice, the attitude, would not match with the impression, the whole image he had gotten from Loki before, and even if he was hurt as badly as right now Tony would expect the Trickster to exude a sense of dominance. He doesn't.

When Tony doesn't answer, lifting his head slightly, Loki glares weakly at him, as if reprimanding him for being too stupid to respond to such a simple question.

"Did you just seriously ask me _why I haven't killed you?_ " blurts out of him.

Loki sighs.

"I am your enemy, am I not? I have harmed you and your fellow warriors, have brought an army to conquer your world. I am here now, and you have the chance to take your revenge as you have foretold. Do so as long as you can." Voice growing more scratchy the god lays back on the pillow, his matted inky hair pooling on the white cotton around him. His deathly pallor conjures up the illusion of him melding into the sheets. Loki's eyes close. Nobody should offer themselves like this to an enemy, Tony thinks, especially not proud, evil Loki. He looks vulnerable now, in a physical sense. His face is still betraying nothing but bodily discomfort, though.

Something had happened in the last 10 weeks, because the Loki that Tony remembered was not the one who was speaking to him now. This one was awaiting punishment, this one was expecting pain to be wrought upon him. There was something missing, some clue that would let Tony comprehend this appalling change.

"Or does your mode of operation dictated by your dear director not allow you to disclose information? Then he might be somewhat wiser then I have given credit."

The scratchy whispering trickles into a short cough, shaking the whole lean body. So, talking then? No killing or freaking out and shooting magic. Right. Tony could work with that. _Try to keep him talking. Should be easy, right? Silvertongue and all? Must like to talk._

"You know, decent human beings like me don't kick those who are already on the ground, and frankly, you look like roadkill." Green is boring into his eyes. _Wind rushing_ -

He reaches for the unopened bottle of water next to him, unscrews the cap and proffers it to the Trickster. Loki's attention shifts from Tony to the bottle but he makes no attempt to take it.

"It's plain water, you can drink it. Not poisoned or anything."

Loki eyes it warily. He obviously would like to drink something but still refuses for some reason. Tony rolls his eyes before it dawns on him.

"You can't grasp it, with your hands hurt like that, is that it? I can pour some into a cup and help you, if you want."

The god seems uncertain for a moment but moves his left hand across his lap.

"Just unwrap these bandages."

"Uhm, okay."

Tony stands and steps to the bed, carefully taking the god's hand into his. Now that his _guest_ is awake this whole situation has a strangely awkward und surreal feel to it. Gingerly he peels the wrapping from the long fingers, and when he is done he looks at the abused digits and winces slightly. He is fairly sure that Loki noticed that, but, whatever. He dumps the bandages in a thrash can and sits back down, turning to Loki. The god has shut his eyes again and is mumbling a few words. His left hand starts shining a second time and at the sharp intake of breath on Tony's side he says "No need to fear, this is only a healing spell."

A soft golden glow wraps around the hand, it reminds Tony of honey, if honey would sparkle and fluoresce. Again the shine flickers out after a few seconds, and the spell leaves Loki panting, sweat forming on his eyebrows. While the other brings his breathing under control Tony pours some water into a clean beaker that he fetched from a cabinet. The god lifts himself up to his elbows in such deliberately slow movements Tony almost thinks that Loki is afraid of moving lest he break apart. Considering the freak show that was happening earlier that day that might not be too far from the truth. He will definitely ask about that, later. He hands the cup to Loki, who tentatively sniffs it. Tony lifts an eyebrow but doesn't comment.

"If you can heal yourself like that, why don't you just patch yourself up all the way now?"

The only reply to that is a glare. _Touchy?_

Before Loki has finished drinking, another thought occurs to Tony.

"Jarv, send down some more water, a sandwich and some scotch."

Loki graces him with a look that clearly speaks of curiosity as to whom Tony was speaking to, in a room empty but for them.

 _I'll let you wonder about that a little while longer, let me have my own_ magical _aces up sleeves._ comes a smug thought.

The next minutes pass silently, Loki steadily empties the bottle in small sips, Tony types notes on the tablet, each of them engrossed in their own mind. When Dummy rounds the corner to the medical bay with a jovial beep however, Loki startles so badly that he jerks himself right off the mattress and lands in a heap of limbs and tangled sheets on the floor, grunting.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" Tony jumps from his seat to move around the bed to the god. Loki tries to stifle the groan of pain, but fails, and his breaths come out puffy and forced. He attempts to shakily sit up, but his arms give out under him.

"Just don't move and don't kill me, I'll pick you up and put you back on the bed, ok?"

He receives an almost imperceptible nod as acknowledgment, threads his arms under thin shoulders and knees and stands up. It feels awkward, and Loki is still naked under the blanket, his mind unhelpfully supplies. _I am so going to die a painful death._

Loki cracks open an eye the moment he feels the bedding beneath him. There's something calculating in that gaze, hidden in the pained squint, scrutinizing, uncomfortable as he sets the sheets right around Loki.

It takes a considerable amount of time before his breathing calms down, this time. That must have really hurt. Tony steps back to sit on his chair, and to give Loki space he produces some half-nonsensical notes on the tablet, still focused on the god, without looking at him. He downs the scotch while typing one-handed.

"What is that? Is this your servant?"

Loki indicates Dummy with a small inclination of his head. The robot stands waiting dutifully with a tray, on which the ordered goods are put rather haphazardly. Looking at it Tony wonders how the machine had managed to not drop anything.

"Oh, that's just Dummy. I built him a while ago to help, but... oh well. He just does things for me, so yeah, kinda like a servant."

Tony extends an arm to seize the sandwich from Dummy's grasp and holds it out to Loki.

"I figured you'd be hungry, too. That's a sandwich, you had them before, right? When you... you know." he trails off, twisting the foodstuff inelegantly through the air.

Loki regards the comestible with disdain.

"I barely touched any of the things you mortals deem proper nourishment, certainly not this abomination called _pizza_ that your archer was so fond of."

A laugh almost bubbles out of Tony. _This is so fucking surreal._ He was talking about fast food with the evil God of Mischief, of all people. Well, _beings_.

"So, what did you eat?"

He is genuinely interested. What do invading space-vikings eat? Thor had certainly shown an unhealthy penchant towards huge servings of greasy, meaty stuff and poptarts.

"I had someone bring me bread, cheese, fruits. Cooked vegetables. Produce I recognized."

"Well, this should be okay then. It's bread, see?"

He unwraps the foil, lifting a corner of the toast.

"And filled with cheese, vegetables and tuna and... some sort of sauce. Should strike your fancy, then."

The god sighs and grabs the hoagie, hesitating for a second before taking a nibbling bite. Surprise and the kind of pleasure that only new food which tastes surprisingly better than expected can induce mingle on his face. The next bite he takes is quite hearty. Tony smirks quietly to himself and goes back to taking notes on his tablet.

There is a file named _A Study in the Strange Eating Behaviors of Ancient Norse Gods_ somewhere on his private server, now.

 

~O~

It's 5:42 am, and still Loki is observing him with half-closed eyes. The god looks tired, bone-weary.

_He isn't allowing himself to fall asleep, even though he's about to pass out. Enemy territory, and all._

Tony puts down the tablet, picks up the dagger from behind him and performs a little wave with it.

"If you don't mind I'll be keeping this safe, I don't like people around me handling sharp objects."

Loki stares at his dagger in Tony's hand and he looks surprised before the blank ( _tired_ ) mask slides back into place. Tony guesses that Loki feels a little bereft of the only pointed weapon he might have had to defend himself, but instead the god leans back comfortably on the pillow, all remaining tension draining out of his body.

"Very well." _What?_

"You're not going to object to me taking your fancy knife?"

"At the moment I do not see any reason to, so no."

He'd be lying to himself if he did not think that Loki's lips moved into the smallest of smiles. Goddamn weirdo. Tony doesn't understand the Trickster's reactions at all. SHIELD and his fellow Avengers should have bugged Thor about some kind of Loki 101 handbook, something to know to how to deal with his unpredictable... fickleness of an adopted little brother.

"Not to be a mood killer or anything but you seem strangely comfortable right now with seeing me taking away your means of defense. Care to explain?"

It's unmistakable now, the corner's of Loki's lips are tugging upwards into a smile.

"When I crafted that blade I weaved many enchantments upon the metal, and amongst them was one for special protection. The blade cannot be used to harm me."

Loki turned to look straight into Tony's eyes again.

"Those bearing ill will against me cannot touch it, it would burn the flesh off of their fingers."

The Trickster looks pointedly down at Tony's hand encircling the hilt of the dagger. He gapes at his own hand, the silver thing lying pleasantly between his digits. Not even a tingling sensation. _Those bearing ill will against Loki._

"So what, did I just pass some weird sort of mental attitude security test?" And oh god ( _haha_ ), the bastard is outright smirking at him now.

_Son of a bitch._

Tony is flustered, but there's also a slight twinge in his chest. _Loki looks so much better with a smile on his face. It looks way more natural than the crazed scowl he'd been wearing 3 months ago._

Maybe that's exactly what matters in the equation though - nobody knew the chain of causes that had led to that... invasion, for lack of a better word. Thor told them how Loki fell off that rainbow bridge, which Tony still can't wrap his head around completely, how his little brother fell into the depths of space. Asgard had thought him lost, until he returned with that alien army on his heel. Thor had also told them that the Trickster was known throughout the realms for causing trouble, hence some of his names, but this had been on a never before seen scale that no one could explain. There are so many missing parts that Tony can't piece together the puzzle of events.

He feels as if he had almost finished the picture of a dark and evil villain and now there are suddenly new fragments thrown to him, too light to fit with the others. A new image.

"But still my question is unanswered - why? Why spare me, even offer help and not see it fit to hurt me?"

Tony contemplates his answer. He has a feeling that this one is important and should be answered carefully. There is a depth to that question, something that encompasses much more than the last few hours. He needs time to think about this. He needs sleep. He needs to get away from the self-deprecating smile across him.

He huffs out a breath and stands, not looking at the god.

"You know, you seem to have gone through some kind of hell already, so I'll offer you a deal. I think that one would work quite well. You don't hurt a soul on this planet, you don't cause any wanton destruction and I'll let you heal up in here, without sicking SHIELD on you. As soon as you're ready, you leave. This planet, I mean. And don't come back."

Tony doesn't wait for a reply, just heads out to the elevator.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what I said about my POV-setting for this fanfic but _god_ , the Loki inside my head kept snarking at me... so this thing happened. For the most part it's a re-telling of the last chapter, from Loki's POV. Just regard it as a kind of interlude.

* * *

 

The first sensation to ripple along the edges of his waking consciousness is _pain_.

It is so intense he wants nothing more than to burrow back into the soothing black of nothingness. He curls away from it, trying to will it to a farther corner of his self.

His mind is shrouded in a haze, slowly gathering itself in preparation to wake up. Physical senses aren't discernible to him yet, so he roams through what he can perceive in himself.

His whole body feels chafed bloody, mangled, like a nerve scraped raw. His innards are a blazing agony, although his bones do not feel _that_ broken anymore, so the spell he had weaved such a long time ago in wise foresight must have worked. Still, he knows he shouldn't move around much yet. His fractured bones are not healed, the splintered ends holding onto each other in just a frail bond. The spell, after all, was merely designed to keep him from dying. He must have received more damage during his flight than he had anticipated. But that was something to ponder later. The insides of his body might be set in the right positions now, but healing from the cause of the spell-trigger, that was another matter. It would take time to take care of all these injuries.

He remembers running, fleeing, trying to break free from his tormentors. He remembers killing the three chitauri that had tumbled with him through the portal, those three that he had not accomplished to lose on the path. He remembers the _want_ to get away to something resembling safety.

The portal had to have drawn attention, the untarnished impulse of power easily noticed by other seidr-wielders, or even any who had senses keen enough. He couldn't recall where he had landed, only the driving need to get away. When he had summoned the path he had paid no attention to its direction, only seeing the bright doorway out of his prison. He had wished for Yggdrasil to lend him more strength, to find back home. He had trusted her.

Hopefully not in vain.

He stretches for his inner magic.

He mentally cringes. The teleportation spell must have burned up all of the remnants. Where he usually can feel the raw powers of nature, fire and chaos, agents of the universe, churning inside him, flowing through him like a kind of secondary blood, a flaming warmth, there now is a rough and sore wound in his core. It feels as if he's only half of himself, the one thing he has always been able to count on, the one thing he had always been able to find solace in, gone. The barely noticeable trickle of power leaves him feeling bereft, alone and cold. The dreading cold of fear, for it could have been too much this time, he could have gone too far, and if he couldn't stretch his mutilated senses to grasp Yggdrasil and heal this hole in his chest...

_No._

His thoughts shudder to a stop, and he wills himself to be calm.

There is tangibility, still. If he concentrates, the Tree is still palpable to him, her embrace warm, caressing him softly like long-stalked grass swaying in the breeze of summer. The feeling causes him so much relief he wishes nothing more than to sink into the branches and let himself be filled with magic again, the flow of energy a song in his soul.

But he knows he has to wake up. He needs to know where he has landed. If he's still in enemy territory he has to get up and somehow move to a safe place, at least long enough to get his bearings and path-wander to his _study_ on one of Yggdrasil's far branches. He can treat his injuries there.

If he's in some forlorn corner of the realms he'll just close his eyes, succumb to the lure of unconsciousness, and let Yggdrasil soothe him as much as she can reach him with her branches, then heal the physical damage done to him.

Touch transmits to his mind now. He is cocooned by warmth. The path had not led him to Jötunheim or Niflheim then. It also is not warm enough for the burning planes of Muspelheim, and too quiet for the long corridors and great halls of Nidavellir. The dwarves always cause such a ruckus, relentlessly clamoring away in their armor. Had he fallen to Svartalfheim, he would surely be dead by now. Asgard would have bound him in unwelcoming cold chains. That only left Alfheim, Vanaheim and Midgard as possible locations.  
That at least was not horrible.

He is waking up, emerging out of his slumber. He can feel the supple rasp of fresh bandages on his naked skin, soft bedding beneath him.  
Had Yggdrasil led him to a friendly haven?

_Thank the Norns._

Slowly Loki opens his eyes. The ceiling above him his painted in white and washed blue tones, interspersed with electrical lights.

_Midgard, then._

Perhaps some forsaken place on this lump of rock who couldn't remember his last _visit_. Or who knows, maybe enough time has passed between the realms for the next generation of the short-lived mortals to have come to its apex.

He can hear the soft rustle of clothing to his right and turns his head. A man is sitting there, with mussed brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard, absorbed in his actions involving the small black rectangle resting on his lap.

Loki freezes.  
  
 _Why, by the Nine... no!_

From the clutch of one enemy to the next.

The memory crashes down upon him like the collapsing crest of a wave, heaviness pressing on his chest.

 _He was there, after I killed the three savages. It has been his balcony, on his damned tower, where the portal had opened. He had been there, in his suit. I knew I couldn't have faced him in my condition. I tried to step away. The teleportation spell must have failed, burning out without enough_ _power_ _and_ _concentration_ _to direct it._

Maybe he just should resign himself to his fate, to always lose, to always pick the short straw when it comes to a possible outcome that will cause him suffering.

But the mortal, who by all rights should consider him an enemy, has not bound him in chains, has not confined him into a cell. The room does not seem to be part of a cell, at least. It appears more similar to a healing chamber. And surely no jailor would sit unprotected with their prisoner, when said prisoner had proven capable of rending them dead effortlessly. And Loki knows that the mortal, that _Stark_ , is exposed without his metal suit. Where his comrades all had the physical abilities to set them apart from other humans, Stark only had his mind and metal inventions to defend himself with.

Now he was sitting across him, not paying attention to him in the slightest, clad in only plain, thin clothes. Was he this confident because he still believed Loki to be unconscious? Had he notified these other _Avengers_ , or the network of the organization called SHIELD to come and collect him for delivery to his proper prison cell?  
  
 _Perhaps the glass cage that the Director was so fond of again._

Loki is quite sure he knows the mortals intentions. Although, treating injured and captured enemies might be a human custom that has grown in the past centuries, he is not sure about that, but he is definitely vexed about the absence of bonds and shackles.

The mortal pays no mind to Loki. So Loki watches, trying to quell the pain pulling constantly at his senses, searching for anything that he could use to his advantage and that might help him escape. Stark yawns and stretches, sipping at a clear blue bottle, before continuing to tap at the device. The inventor seems largely at ease, albeit tired and somewhat... inebriated?

Still Loki doesn't dare to move, not wanting to draw attention to his state of wakefulness. More time to assess his surroundings. He does not need to wait long, though, Stark straightens his back as if to move to get up when his eyes finally flick up to him.

The human immediately stills. His face already reveals a lot, but his eyes positively scream of the panic that has gripped him.

_Frightened little worm, just as you should be._

His own expression is schooled into a blank mask, his concentration hopefully not too broken by his physical misery.

Instead of running away or hurrying to shackle him as he would have expected, Stark opens his mouth. It only serves to confuse Loki's sluggish mind. The human is prattling inane nonsense, the words rushing out of him like a rivulet of water. Even though he is obviously scared he stands his ground, just like he did when he offered him a drink. Loki has to commend that.

When he tries to speak himself he notices how dry and sore his throat is. He feels inside, grasping at the tiny sphere of energy that has accumulated again, wills it to soothe his vocal cords and allow him to talk. The mortal's fear is suddenly tangible, undoubtedly he does not know that magic is not inherently destructive. He surely has never seen a healing spell.

"Why have you not killed me yet?" The question is just, in his mind.

The mortal appears stupefied.  
  
"I am your enemy, am I not? I have harmed you and your fellow warriors, have brought an army to conquer your world. I am here now, and you have the chance to take your revenge as you have foretold. Do so as long as you can. Or does your mode of operation dictated by your dear Director not allow you to disclose information? Then he might be somewhat wiser then I have given credit."

His voice gives out.

"You know, decent human beings like me don't kick those who are already on the ground, and frankly, you look like roadkill."

Loki bristles. _Insolent little-_

But Stark grabs the second blue bottle, opens it and holds it out to him. Says it is only water. Holds still until he realizes that Loki couldn't grab something with his broken fingers and offers his help.

He eyes Stark and the bottle, trying to decipher if there is a trick hidden in his behavior. Some clue that spoke of his true intentions. Loki can't find any, no tell-tale sign of immediate danger. The human also does not seem to be preparing for torture, and... he _did_ treat his wounds, after all. Helping an enemy.

He asks the mortal to undo the bandages on his left hand, he knows it's less injured than his right. Stark complies. His hands are so careful, so intent on not causing any more damage while he removes the cloth, he almost seems tender. When Loki sees the compassion on the other's face, it bewilders him for a moment. _Why would the human care?_

Pulling at the magic inside him takes so much effort, it feels like he is back in his first lesson with one of the old seidrmadrs after discovering his magical potential. He didn't know how to _reach_ , then. He had been dead-tired by afternoon. Now it should come as easy as breathing to him, but it is so exhausting, it only shows how damaged he is at the moment. It will take weeks of meditation to mend his marred sense of magic.

He wills the bone fragments in his hand to grow back together. He is not even finished when he has to stop, panting from the exertion of trying to pull directly from the Tree.

Oh, it is _so tiring_.

But being able to drink clean water was worth it. It runs down his throat like desert rain. It's wonderful to be swallowing something else than his own blood.

"If you can heal yourself like that, why don't you just patch yourself up all the way now?"

Loki does not deign an answer, instead glares at the mortal. He should be able to see how much it exhausted him. If not, he will not relinquish the vantage point of knowing that healing spells take so much more power than others.

Then Stark says something, it clearly wasn't meant for Loki, but there was no one else in the room. The human looks at him smugly, obviously enjoying his confusion.  
Loki revels in ideas how to pay him back as soon as he's capable.

There's silence between them for a few minutes while he drinks and the mortal plays with his black device, and then some _machine_ enters the room with a grating noise, it alarms him with such a start his instincts try to make him move to a defensive stance. Except, he can't exactly move, tucked into the sheet and broken-limbed, so he just causes himself to, rather inelegantly he envisions, tumble off the bed.

Agony explodes violently throughout his whole body. His eyes screw shut, and the rhythm of his breathing goes off kilter once more. He can feel the ends of some splintered bones pressing on his lungs again, some of his insides shifting. It just hurts _so much_. He can hear the mortal moving close to him, hovering. Loki bites his lip, fighting the urge to groan out of pure pain.

Strangely, Stark does not gloat. Even if his the helplessness shames him, he accepts the mortal's offer for assistance. He is being gingerly repositioned onto the bed, and while the man rights the cloth around him, Loki watches Stark.

The human seems to be genuinely sorry for what had just transpired, flicking him guilt-laden glances. Loki is not sure what warrants the care the mortal exudes. Sure, he tries to not let it show, but Loki wouldn't be the Silvertongue if he hadn't learned how to read other beings. Stark contradicts himself. He seems equally terrified of him, the god that almost conquered his world, and also interested, mesmerized by the otherworldly entity. Still, the kindness he is given, his experience tells him, will have to be repaid somehow. Whether it be in his own blood, lured to a false sense of welcome and then entering a trap fully awake or other, time would reveal.

The realm of Midgard had stopped praying and sacrificing to the Aesir long ago, Loki also sees a hint of that grown arrogance in Stark. Men all that time ago would have fallen at his feet, yet this one is brash enough to offer him drink and promise defeat. Part of him wants to squash the impertinent fool, another has grown a liking to the brazen, for a mortal admittedly witty character.

When he finally completes the breathing exercise he inquires about the machine. Loki would like to take it apart, see how the human achieved to animate it without magic. But that could wait.

Stark is offering him a supposedly edible triangle. He's offering him bread. Loki doubts that the mortal knows the implication behind the gesture. Sharing bread with a guest under one's roof suggests the extension of protection over them. Loki thinks back to his earlier train of thought, that perhaps the human is attempting to dull his alertness. He won't succeed. He needs to eat something to replenish his energy, though.

He sighs in resignation and takes a bite. It tastes surprisingly good. The vegetables fresh, the tuna an interesting texture on his tongue, and the bread and sauce give it a hearty flavor. In spite of it certainly being a peculiar combination of ingredients to be eaten all at the same time, the humans make it work somehow. Maybe he should sample some more of this realm's dishes, so different from Asgard's monotony of greasy roast meat.

He pretends to not notice the human's smile, and hides the upwards tug of his own lips in return.

Maybe this mortal wasn't that much of a writhing worm after all. He'll settle for an entertaining little species of birds, instead. They all seem so eager to chatter off their tiny heads. For a moment the image of Stark, caged in golden wires and _chattering_ to him while Loki works in his study, amuses him.

It doesn't take long for him to grow sleepy after having eaten. His eyelids are heavy, trying to close on their own accord, but he forces himself to stay awake.

_He can't sleep here._

Not with the mortal so close to his vulnerable form, not while he's not confident in his ability to wake up fast enough in case he were to be attacked, not while he isn't confident he could defend himself.

He keeps himself awake by alternately reciting either old poems or lists of ingredients for spells when Stark speaks, holding something out to him.

"If you don't mind I'll be keeping this safe, I don't like people around me handling sharp objects."

 _It is not possible._ It _should_ not be possible. The mortal is holding his dagger, holding it lightly in his right hand. By all means, the man should be squealing in agony, the enchantment stripping the flesh clean off his bones. Stark doesn't even look fazed. _But it cannot be_. The protective charm had still been alive when he had slain the chitauri, he had felt the coils of magic in the blade. On the other hand, the possibility of humans having found a means of breaking enchantments is very unlikely. He hasn't seen any of the sort in the archer's or the scientist's mind. It doesn't make sense, unless the metaphoric intention, even if given ignorantly, of sharing his bread under his roof was true.

As of right now, this human harbors no intention of harming him.

"Very well." he says, keeping the relief out of his voice, as he leans back into the pillow, finally allowing his eyes to slide shut.

Stark is perturbed and confused, no doubt. Loki smugly tells him of the spell. He has no reason to assume that the mortal would have a way of fooling the magic it consists of. And that means that he truly had no objective of hurting him. Which leads back to the one significant question.

_Why would you spare me? I almost killed you, devastated your home, parts of your city. Others would gleefully see me punished and broken apart._

He doesn't immediately receive an answer. After some seconds pass, Stark rubs at his face and stands.

"You know, you seem to have gone through some kind of hell already, so I'll offer you a deal. I think that one would work quite well. You don't hurt a soul on this planet, you don't cause any wanton destruction and I'll let you heal up in here, without sicking SHIELD on you. As soon as you're ready, you leave. This planet, I mean. And don't come back."

 _Interesting_. If the mortal wants to strike a bargain with the Lie-smith, the Silvertongue... well, his choice. He will play it to his advantage.

Oh, how he will _play_.

Before he can retort anything regarding that matter however, Stark turns his back, his _unprotected back to the enemy who had just proven to still be able to wield magic_ , and walks away.

Loki can't decide if the mortal is brave or plain foolish, and settles for foolishly brave.

The proposition is certainly intriguing enough, to use the venue of his failure as hiding place, rest here to heal. He could not read any deception or lies in Stark, and should the mortal change his mind, then he will suffer consequences. He tells himself he will say _yes,_ not out of curiosity or promised entertainment, only because it serves him conveniently. Learn more about the world of the mortals, learn more about that band of self-proclaimed heroes. Knowledge to be used against them when time sees fit.

For now he will accept the freely offered peace gladly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the supposedly short interlude grew into the longest chapter so far, pffft. Hope you liked it. As always, I appreciate every comment, please tell me what you thought of the writing. I'm very conscious about it, and spend way too much time fiddling around with single words because I think it sounds stupid. So please critique away :)  
> I also probably should say that from this point on I might butcher some of the canon mythology to accomodate my story. Sorry/Not sorry.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, to everyone who's been reading and leaving kudos and comments, please, right now, feel like a bucket of love has been upended above you <3  
> And also I'm so sorry about the wait - but I simply couldn't find the time to type till now. I will not even pretend that this will get anything resembling an update schedule - chapters will come when they come. But they will, I promise that.

* * *

_The cave system behind him goes up in flames, the armor (his old armor, crude and ugly to look at) propelling him into the air to get away._

_His flight describes a parabolic arc (it always does), the screams of the afghan terrorists dying out in the distance._

_His flight (honestly spoken, more of an upwards and then later downwards tug of gravity, nonsensical physics) takes him over boundless dunes (burning sand or gritty-crunchy fire, he doesn't know) before he reaches the crest of the arc. He always knows (unerringly), that one precise moment never passes without his distinct knowledge (which never takes the fear of it from him, though), because the protective metal surrounding his neck suddenly strains outwards-inwards-away, bursting, morphing, pressing, sliding onto his throat like fingers and taking a firm hold (too firm, can't breathe can't breathe can't- no, this is a-)._

_The expanse of not-flames passing below him (sometimes looking like an endless watercolor painting pulled along) turns to the smoking ruins of buildings (that shop's coffee is good), more and more turning into the outline of a wrecked New York. A churning blue sun (he knows it isn't one) hangs in a sky littered with stars that form constellations he doesn't know (but he has seen them, he has, and it was terrifying and beautiful). One tower (he will always know this silhouette) is the lone stubborn structure to still stand, and he falls upwards (it never ceases to make him feel sick) along the facade to stand on this nightmarish version of his balcony, the city blazing around him (but they saved it, it's safe, this isn't real)._

_A towering figure stands there (always him, always), black washing to green ripple-flowing to gold and back to black, in a horrifying-ridiculous-ghastly manner great curved  golden horns spouting from under stygian hair (but it's only a helmet, that hilariously-looking thing). A mocking laugh (but he has never laughed, not once, only-) resonates through the air, contemptuous like a conscious sneer. The other (it's not him it's not him it's not) is moving towards him, swaying in horrid, aborted motions, the elongated form a gold-green-black blur. The face wears teeth (oh, don't look), the image of the Cheshire Cat's grin gone_ _horribly_ _wrong._

_But then, there is something different, something new. Eyes that would burn him with hate and disdain are still a blazing bright color, but they are glazed with tears. When the other reaches him, like he always does, the touch doesn't burn-freeze him in agony while they tumble off the splintering balcony. He does not feel the crunching of his limbs down on the crumbled pavement and wake up with phantom pains._

_They do lurch into the fall. When he tries to hold on to the other he can feel him dissolving into smoke. Instead of rushing towards solid ground it opens into a black chasm, and he falls through, but it does not carry the scare of dropping to his death, the feeling more akin to traversing. The black around him tinges green and soft orange. He decides that the orange is the sky, and below him a great forest extends in a burst as far as he can see in the light of a setting sun. The green of the forest is a warm deep emerald, and it feels not unwelcoming. Directly beneath him something gold spirals up and outwards, taking the shape of a huge tree, far higher than the others, glowing a honey color. Branches and leaves rustle towards him, catching him in a soft embrace, it floods him with warmth, and bending down to set him on the ground. The rustling leaves sound like whispers, and he can almost understand what they say-_

Jarvis' posh british voice hauls him from the dream.

" _Good morning, Sir. It is 10:12 am, Miss Potts will be here by 11. She tells me to remind you to please be dressed this time and in the likely case that you're still in bed to, I quote, 'get your ass moving and presentable to your employee without causing a minor dispute.'_ "

Tony's eyes fly open, and his heart is pounding. The dream had changed.

_But it never changes._

There had been only one dream since the attack on New York, only that one, and now, when he was finally starting to resign himself to just accept the impossibility of escaping that one dream _it had changed._

When Tony sits up his head feels like it's about to split in half, and his stomach is rolling in unhappy turns.

He flops back onto the pillow, groaning, heel of a hand gingerly pressing onto the bridge of his nose. Just a general _ugh_.

" _Sir, need I remind you-_ "

"No, I'm up, I'm up..."

Getting the queasy feeling under control isn't easy but breathing helps, and after finally getting vertical and making it to his bathroom, splashing cold water to his face works wonders. He swallows two Tylenol before brushing his teeth, his mouth felt fuzzy, he must have forgotten it before falling into bed last night? He takes a nice shower, and when he closes his eyes, the running warm water almost feels like a hug, or the embrace of hundreds of soft leaves rustling towards him- He shakes himself out of it, turning the water cool towards the end to wake himself up a bit more. He grabs an old AC/DC-shirt and some comfortable worn jeans with threadbare knees to wear - it's Sunday, he's at home, even the great fashion diva Tony Stark is allowed to let himself go as long as it's not in public where the paparazzi would tear his image apart. Also, much better attire to dive nose first into some greasy machinery with.

Tony checks for the time - it's a quarter to, so he figures there's enough time to make himself some coffee and a bite to eat before Pepper comes with the company stuff that is likely to take up time till after lunch. Better eat something now before his concentration will be shot to shit later because he's hungry.

He yawns all the way down the corridor until he arrives in the living area, stretching while he walks. He's slowly slouching over to the kitchen when in passing he looks at the coffee table before the couch and the things occupying it. The bottle of scotch he remembers opening yesterday sometime in the afternoon is empty. But that's not the cause for his raised eyebrow. There's something else lying beside that. A dagger. To be precise, an intricate and beautiful piece of deadly weaponry that _does not belong to him._

_Right.  
_

_What?  
_

He remembers _trembling tired green_ and _slick coppery red,_ gaze snapping up to the balcony windows. There's a tarpaulin which he is sure is not covering tiling utensils.

 _Oh my god_.

He scrambles to the table to pick up the dagger. Suddenly remembering everything.

The portal, the chitauri, worst of all - Loki. The fight - the blood. The broken bones. The Trickster trying to get away. Trepidation and pain coloring dull green eyes. Deep forest green, something gleaming gold, reaching ( _what_?). Picking up the prone form, and treating the wounds. Those awful wounds, not all received in combat, some resembling his- Conversing.

He brought the God of Lies and Mischief into his Tower.

How fucking drunk had he been last night? How could he have deemed that a good idea? How could he forget this? And Pepper was about to come over- Pepper-

 _Oh. My. God_.

"Jarvis, is our guest still here?" His heart is hammering in his chest.

" _Mr. Odinsson fell asleep a few minutes after you left the medical bay, Sir. He still is. His vital signs have been growing stronger steadily but still seem to be below a healthy norm_."

He brought the God of I-tried-to-conquer-your-world-and-enjoyed-throwing-you-out-of-a-window into his Tower and helped him. Just fucking WHY? He should have notified SHIELD the moment he noticed the portal. The moment he recognized Loki. The moment Loki collapsed. The moment Loki regained consciousness.  
The moment Loki asked him " _Why have you not killed me yet_?" with such a _beaten_ voice-

Why had he taken him in? Why had he helped him? Why had he cared at all? That insane Bambi should have gone into SHIELD's custody-

That's the thought where Tony stops. He knows what that _hospitality_ would entail. His mental eye flicks over the hacked file containing a list of tests, timed schedules for administrations of suppressive chemicals and a catalog of _surgical research procedures_. Like, yeah. Of course, that's what they would call it. Fucking torture it would be, and even if that bastard still deserved some punishment for what he did to New York, in no way would Tony ever, _ever_ , be able to consent with himself to the torture of some sentient being. And, thinking about it, the marks that Loki was bearing when he arrived yesterday already looked too much like-

The soft _ping_ of the elevator makes him jump and he practically throws Loki's dagger under the couch, out of sight ( _but not out of mind, oh no, goddamn fucking HA HA_ ). He takes a slow breath inwards to calm himself and shove Loki from the forefront of his mind, and fakes a leisurely stroll in the direction of the kitchen, the empty scotch bottle in hand. Pepper's "Hello, Mr. Stark." sounds too chipper and too cold for him, both at the same time.

Her business smile falters the moment she sees the glass container in his grasp.

"Tony..." she starts, a sad frown forming on her face, "You need to stop this."

He tacks on a fake smile. "What, helping myself to fall asleep? Haven't found a better cure yet."

He knows that she knows what he means, that since everything started in that blasted ( _blessed?_ ) cave he hasn't been able to sleep without a warm breathing body to curl up to next to him to ground him or alternatively having his brain drowned in alcohol, at some point simply relinquishing its hold on consciousness.

The human subconscious can be a bitch when you're trying to rest during the night and the supposedly soothing darkness coalesces into tormenting shapes.

"You know that I-"

"Yeah, ok, not blaming you here." he cuts her off. But still wishing she would be just that tad stronger. How did police or military officer's wives handle that? Their husbands could get shot at everyday during their work too - and they didn't have an awesome suit designed by a genius to protect them.

After a few seconds Pepper inhales sharply, straightening herself back into her business-mode. "We need to talk about security. Last night we noticed another attempt to hack into confidential company files."

He resumes his walk to the kitchen, remembering her call about that about a week and a half ago.

"This time it was coupled with theft - it seems they tried to hide it under the cover of embezzling money. It's a fairly small sum, just 20.000 dollars, but that's not the problem."

Tony glances to her after he sets the bottle next to the trash can in the cabinet under the sink and washes his hands.

"I have the feeling that last time was only to see if they could breach the security programs, only random files about the company and some information about employee work schedules had been accessed, we had them all checked by now. All clear. This time however the hacker actually tried to find something. They were going through files about what happened when Loki was here."

 _Shit_.

Tony had been trying to get his comatose visitor out of his head for the moment. _So much for that_.

He still doesn't know what he'll do when Loki wakes. He also doesn't know what he'll do if somebody finds out that he'd been harboring the super-powered criminal who attacked New York. SHIELD would surely want to take him in for testing for possession and mindfuckery or something. But first - what does he do with Loki?

The god at least didn't seem too murderous last night, almost talkative actually, but that was most likely because of the pain, Tony figures. Pain distracts. And as soon as he's better there is no chance that Tony could keep him from wreaking havoc, and then he'd have to call in the others, and then he'd have to explain... and why the fuck did he do that, taking him in? He mentally slaps himself.

But still, Loki hadn't instantly shot down his suggestion. _Heal up without causing any trouble and then disappear_.

If it would work like that it would be a miracle. It wouldn't get Tony the satisfaction of knowing the Trickster to be sitting out his punishment but... Well, better to not have vengeance than to have to deal with a whole new disaster, right? And then his mind again goes back to the state in which Loki arrived on his balcony. He shudders involuntarily.

"-measures are planned for a security update. Tony? Are you even listening to me? Maybe I should come back when you're in a better state to discuss business matters, Mr. Stark."

He closes is eyes and groans.

Right. This was important, too.

"Yes, I'm listening. And trying to think of who were to benefit from that information." That was partially true. Now, at least.

Who would be interested in such information? _Existence of other worlds. Aliens. Magical shiny cube. Oh, magic_.  
SHIELD of course, but they had pretty much all of it filed by now. Tony tries making a mental list of people who were resourceful enough to get there. The idiot going by the public name of Justin Hammer would be interested but in no way powerful enough to no get himself and his shitty tech caught immediately. Hydra had popped back up, much to Roger's chagrin, they most likely were still after the cube, guaranteed to pry for its whereabouts. Then there's this guy called Doom, Tony is hazily remembering meeting him on some conference years ago, and he's still laughing about the stupid name, _Dr. Doom, pffff_ , but the power that the cape-wearer packs had thrown them all at first. Seems there were humans capable of shooting fairy darts and fireballs, too. And they were all coming out of their hidey holes at once after the chitauri mess had barely been dealt with. He sighs. So much crazy in such little time.

The God of Crazy lying in a bed two floors beneath them. _For fuck's sake, he couldn't concentrate!_

"You keep watching out for stuff like that, Pepper, and me and Jarvis'll try to find who's been sneaking around. Is there something else?" Wanting the conversation to end Tony ostentatiously starts the coffee machine and heads for the fridge. _  
_

"Are you ok, Tony? I know you act strange when you're hung over, but you're really spacing out today. Please cut back on the drinking a little." She comes closer to rest a hand against his arm. "It wouldn't do any good to find you one day having hurt yourself or with alcohol poisoning."

"Well I got my trusty J to look our for that now." Tacks on one of the patented Stark smirks, not faltering when there's a flash of hurt on her face. Pulls on the fridge handle.

"Tony... Ok, just... call me, ok? I can still help." Tony blinks at her, then directs his frozen smirk to the contents of the fridge. Doesn't even look at what he grabs. Pepper sighs behind him and after a few moments he hears the clicking of her heels fading into the direction of the elevator, then the _ping_ of her leaving.

Spitefully Tony bites what he has grabbed in his right hand, thinks "Carrot? Whatever..." before his teeth grind together in a blood-curling crunch and he spits out the mouthful into the sink.

_Ugh. Should've washed that before..._

He does now and eats it on the way to the lift. He needs to go check the medical bay and see now, sober, that this really is happening. That Loki is really back and that this was not all some kind of weird drunk hallucination, even if the dagger and Jarvis tell otherwise. He just needs to make sure.

He strides through the corridor leading to the beds, part of him hoping that he'll find nobody there, everything in its pristine condition and without any indicator of... _anything_. He slows down at the wide door, takes a deep breath while rounding the corner, and then he grips the door frame before turning around sharply to go back to the elevator because _holy fuck, Loki really is lying there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for reading.  
> If you want to come chat with me come to [my tumblr](http://aoi-samidare.tumblr.com/) :)  
> On that note, I'm following the tag 'caeff' (under which I might post news or stuff and maybe artwork? I don't know yet) if you want me to find stuff.
> 
> Also, if you're interested, this is what I'm mostly listening to currently when I work on this fic:  
> Two Steps from Hell - Archangel  
> Two Steps from Hell - Kronos  
> Two Steps from Hell - Love and Loss  
> Two Steps from Hell - Strength of a Thousand Men  
> Two Steps from Hell - To Glory  
> Shingeki no Kyoujin OST - Body Motion / Rittai Kidou  
> Hurts - Devotion  
> Florence + The Machine - Never let me go  
> Florence + The Machine - Breath of Life  
> Bump of Chicken - Karma  
> Zoe Keating - Escape Artist  
> Zoe Keating - Optimist  
> Mumford & Sons - Lover of the Light  
> Stratovarius - Move the Mountain  
> Lindsay Stirling - Crystallize


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves to everyone*  
> sorry for the long wait ;___;
> 
>  
> 
> PS: It's late here, so I might edit this a little if something really offends me on a read through later while I'm not half asleep, but I just didn't want to make you wait any longer. Hope you like it.

* * *

  
Tony doubles right back to the penthouse floor and grabs a new bottle of liquor. He doesn't look which, doesn't care, as long as it's of the hard kind and takes a gulp so large he has to fight not to sputter.

 _Fuck, what did he get himself into?_  
  
He walks to the couch and slowly lowers himself onto it, then gets up again to retrieve the dagger he had so accurately thrown beneath that piece of furniture. He wonders about that now, how big were the chances of hitting that narrow gap and not have the blade spin and clatter against the couch or the floor? That had been one hell of a lucky throw.  
  
He sits again, bottle of Jack Something in his left hand, the dagger in his right. That beautiful, frightening work of art. Even though he could pretend that everything was alright right now, the dagger grounds him in the knowledge that Loki is sleeping two floors beneath him. And sooner or later he would wake up. He would wake up and then he would not be beaten to all hell and again be capable of dishing out destruction. Tony would be partly responsible for not preventing that.

The thought is terrifying.

And on all accounts, he should call somebody, tell them that he has that crazy son of a bitch broken and out cold here in his tower, ready to get carted off.

He doesn't. If somebody asks him why, he couldn't tell.

He also tries to not think too hard about that actual _why_ , afraid of shaking something loose in his subconscious that would be better off left alone.

But now there is no way around the fact of Loki being in his Tower anymore, and he might as well try to make the best of it. Maybe he could glean some knowledge by observing the god, learn something about magic that would be helpful against that Doom guy that had been popping up. And he would most likely not be the last.

Taking another mouthful of liquid courage he stands and walks to the kitchen, leaving the bottle of whiskey there to exchange it for bottled water and the last two wrapped sandwiches. Makes his way back to the chair beside the bed that's currently occupied by the still sleeping Trickster, puts the comestibles on the small bedside table and eats one of the sandwiches.

He leans back, and watches. The god's sleep-slack face is smooth apart from his injuries, devoid of the angry lines and sneer that had been straining his countenance in waking when they had met before. For the second time Tony thinks that this looks much more fitting than his appearance some months ago, all crazed, frantic, _haunted_.

With those looks, if he were a human singer or an actor, Tony muses detachedly, he wouldn't be able to save himself from fans.

Then comes a thought nagging at him, what would happen if Loki would reject the offer he made last night? Or if he pretended to play along, and when he'd wormed some trust from Tony, go on a rampage in New York? If the public found out about Tony harboring the super-powered criminal whose attack had cost so many lives... Stark Industries would lose most of its shares. The Avengers, still eyed suspiciously by large parts of the public, would have to take a huge hit and not to forget SHIELD - they would surely take in Tony for testing for mind-control. Because no way he'd have helped the Trickster of his own free will, right?

He can tell the precise moment when the god starts to wake up - Loki's shoulders curve slightly inwards, as if to make himself smaller, give him even a pretense of defense. The agony his body must still cause him is clearly visible in the lines of his face now. A small pained noise slips past his lips, and then his eyes open, face drawing to an emotionless expression.

When he sees the ceiling, he closes his eyes for a few seconds again, as if almost expecting to wake someplace else. "You haven't changed your mind, I see."

It takes Tony a moment to understand.

"To what, stab you in your sleep? I'm not that kind of guy." He tries for a smirk but he imagines it to come out horribly crooked and fake-looking. Loki's slightly raised eyebrow undermines that suspicion. "I hate backstabbers. Had enough of those for a lifetime."

Something glints in the green eyes at that and suddenly Tony is reminded of the fact that Thor had accused the Trickster of being exactly that, someone to betray his family.

His mouth snaps shut, and he stares at Loki in uncomfortable silence, trying to think of something to say while the god's eyes are boring into his.

_Am I imagining it or are his eyes a tiny bit brighter than yesterday?_

Tony averts his gaze, and the silence stretches on for some minutes.

"I have an answer for you," comes a whisper then, growing louder with certainty.  
  
"I acquiesce." Loki says determinedly, "To your proposition."  
  
"You do? Why? I'd have thought you would rather kill me and be done with the writhing mortal, going from earlier experiences." Tony retorts in a weird suicidal fit. There's no way Loki would really hold up his end of that agreement. The Trickster must see that he doesn't just trust him to not betray Tony.  
  
"I fell at your door as an enemy, yet you offered me lodging, nourishment and even protection. You have a rare heart, mortal, to harbor such compassion. You've shown me nothing but kindness, and I wish to repay you in kind."  
  
The soft and calmly spoken words stun Tony into speechlessness for some seconds. "You would not just rather throw me out of another window?"

Loki's blank face darkens a shade, one of his eyebrows giving a tiny twitch of annoyance.  
  
"Even if I am a monster and accused of being evil, I know how to appreciate gratuitous aid and show gratitude. Don't make me regret this decision so soon."

Wow, that notion went farther than Tony had intended. But unimportant right now.  
Loki is agreeing, actually agreeing to what he said on a whim the night before. But could it really be this easy? To just talk a way out of this one, with the Silvertongue?

He could only give it his best shot.

" _Sir, I would like to inform you that Agent Romanoff has just stepped into the elevator and is on her way to your living quarters. I assumed it wise to slow her down a bit?_ "

Tony's gaze snaps to Loki's, and he would swear that he saw fear flicker over that face.

"Yes, J, thank you for that. And please," he directs to Loki while standing up, "don't... make any loud noises, please?" Tony finishes lamely, then turns and sprints to the elevator.

He gets out just in time to not look rushed before he stands face to face with the Black Widow.

"Ohhh, to what do I owe this pleasure?" The business smirk reserved for conferences and uninvited SHIELD agents is already playing its role on his lips.

"No time for joking around, Stark."

She does not look happy, annoyed even, and Tony prays that nobody at SHIELD had caught wind of what had happened on his balcony yesterday. Why they would have waited until now to come and see about that or why they would only send Natasha, Tony wouldn't know. So, chances were that this was about something else.

"We have had a security breach by an as of yet unidentified party. I'm here to tell you that if it was you, Fury will have you for dinner, if not, you're to help us find them."

"They didn't by chance look mostly through the files on magic, the Tesseract and Loki?"

The twitch of surprise on her otherwise blank face tells him he hit that nail head on.

"I know because I have the same problem. And I'm already working on that. You could've just called about that, you know. Or called Pepper, she would've told you the same. And no, I have no idea who it is at the moment."

Natasha looks at him in her dissecting way before saying, "There's something else that Fury sent me here to talk to you about. Since the Avengers have no managing facilitator nor a base of operations, SHIELD wants you to repurpose one of your Tower's empty levels as home base for the Avengers, including sleeping arrangements and having Jarvis channel communications."

Tony stares at her.

"With that order taking effect as soon as possible."

Just _no_. He doesn't want that ragtag bunch of people going in and out of his Tower as they pleased, let alone have them living in here?

Especially not now, with Loki under the same roof?

_Oh, that wasn't gonna end well._

His face must have shown his apprehension, because Natasha also adds, in a slightly softer tone that he might have just imagined, "I don't like being cooped up in here with everybody either. It would mean a better response to emergencies, however. And I trust you to be able to think of something to keep everyone happy, or as happy as can be."

She offers a little head-tilt and a _Good bye, Mr. Stark_ from the door of the elevator, then she is gone.

Tony's mind is reeling. Of course he has empty levels of the Tower to spare, interest had dropped after a magical portal spouting invading aliens had been opened on the roof, but not like this. Loki alone was enough on his hands.

He groans, rubs his hands over his face.

_That definitely wasn't gonna end well._

Upon entering the medical bay he finds Loki to be nibbling on the remains of the last sandwich, a short flicker of guilt passing over his blank mask. His shoulders pull up and inwards a little, and if it wouldn't be so unthinkable Tony would say that the god looked like he was awaiting punishment for having taken something without permission, before he straightens back into blankness.

"It's ok, that one was for you anyway. Should I open one of the bottles for you?"

Loki stares at him, and Tony can almost see the rage and astonishment and gratefulness fighting for dominance behind his mask.

"Yes... thank... you..." The words roll off of Loki's tongue like something foreign, or something not said in a long time, needing to be tested out again. He looks curiously at the last bite of the sandwich, as if listening to himself to decide how that sounded.

"Was the Agent... here because of me?" The little pause spoke volumes of Loki's uncertainty, despite the carefully leveled voice.

How could he be called the God of Lies when his face and voice were so readable if you just only really watched him?

"No, that was about something else, not you. Nobody seems to know yet that you're here."

Loki nods and takes the unscrewed bottle of water, drinks from it after sniffing it, again. Tony notices that the god seemed to have healed his left hand completely now, his fingers gripping in normal motions, unlike last night.

"How are you feeling?" The question surprises them both, Tony wondering about his own genuine concern.

Again, Loki answers tentatively, as if having to test the words, or maybe to keep himself from saying things he would later regret.

"I feel... much better than recently. My body is... mending." His brows are drawn in a slightly confused frown.

"That's... good, I suppose." Tony answers. He hasn't felt this awkward in a long time, but some instinct tells him to stay here, keep talking.

Loki seems to enjoy the talking. Whoever's company the Trickster had shared before, they probably did not chitchat over tea and cookies, judging by how they had treated him.

And talking? He could do that. If that was all it takes to keep the Trickster in a non-murderous mood Tony could certainly do that.

"If you need anything, water or something to eat, you can tell me or Jarvis." He points to the ceiling, and funny enough, Loki's gaze follows.

" _Good day, Mr. Laufeyson. I am Master Stark's assistant. Please don't hesitate to call on me if needed._ "

Loki does _not_ cower at the disembodied voice floating through the speakers.

"Is that... another of your... machines?" He turns his head slightly, trying to find the source of Jarvis's voice.

"In a way, yes. But that can wait until later. Because on another note, I need you to move." Tony says, and immediately Loki's face turns closed off. "Just out of this room into one of the guest rooms. If somebody came in here and saw you lying on that bed... I don't even want to start thinking about possible outcomes of that scenario."

Loki nods concedingly, the water bottle still clutched in his hand. He takes a few more careful sips before setting it onto the bedside table.

He pauses, as if waiting for something, then looks at Tony as if waiting for him to do something.

"Avert you gaze, I do not wear any clothing anymore." Loki must have forgotten that there is only Tony to help him here.

"Ah yes, that...It's... I had to take them off, when I treated your wounds. So..." he trails off when he looks at the face below him.  
Loki is blushing furiously with rage but there's nothing he can do about his embarrassment now, short of killing Tony. Which he hopefully won't.

Instead the god clenches his jaw, expels an angry huff and ever so carefully starts to bring himself into a sitting position, the sheet slipping from his narrow frame, and with a few deliberate knots and tucks of fabric the light blanket is tied around him in a kind of outlandish toga.

The feel of regality to even that motion startlingly reminds Tony of the god's possible upbringing, most likely in his thousand years of existence every little thing had been done for him by servants, before whatever it was that had happened that led to the creature before him now.

Slowly Loki gets to his feet, wincing, and comes to a wobbly stand.

He manages a few unstable steps, in which Tony can hear the horrifying sounds of bone fractures grinding against each other, and Loki moves slowly and stiffly, biting down each sound that threatens to spill out of his mouth, before he has to brace himself against a bed frame lest he falls.

Every bit of color that he had regained during his rest has already faded away to pale skin, strained with pain, his breaths coming out puffy and shallow.

Tony knows that Loki would never make it to the guest suites in that condition.

He catches up to him, saying, "Just like yesterday, don't kill me and... just don't kill me."

He manages to bring a half-genuine smile to his lips while he reaches for Loki's left hand, the god decidedly does _not_ flinch at that, takes the hand and drapes the appertaining limb across his shoulders. With his right arm, he takes a gentle hold of Loki's waist.

For a moment the god grows rigid, even ceasing to breathe, and the coldness of his skin gives Tony a weird feeling. Then they're off, for a few yards at least.

Tony can feel the shift of every bone and muscle in Loki's thin form, the rapid breaths and fluttering heart beat, and he can hear the crunching of bones coming from Loki's feet with every small step. He shudders when trying to imagine that pain.

"Oh, for God's sake..." Tony moves, and before Loki can even object he has him gathered up in his arms again, to carry him the rest of the way. The fingers of Loki's left hand tighten almost painfully on his shoulder, gripping hard, the whole body tensing, partly because of the pain the movement most likely caused, but more, which evokes in Tony a strange emotion, the fact that Loki seems afraid that he would be dropped to the floor.

Although he could find his way around the Tower blindfolded Tony keeps his eyes fixed on the hallway before him, he can feel Loki's scrutinizing gaze lingering on his face, and it is unnerving. But then, it is not as weird as it suddenly feels carrying him when the god closes his eyes and starts to relax marginally.

When they arrive in the right corridor and Tony consider which suite would be best to hide Loki in, with the smallest chance of someone claiming it overnight, Loki says, "I'll take the one next to your chamber."

And before Tony can protest, continues "I trust that your companions refrain from occupying the chamber adjacent to yours?" Something knowing is sparking in the god's expression.

And Tony knows he needs to be careful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, critique and comments are welcome :)  
> edit Jan 3rd 2014: edited for typos and messed up tenses after a read through while trying to get back into 'writing mode' :)


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